8. Not Sneaking Around
NOT SNEAKING AROUND
PARKER
One Year Back
If I had to take a shot every time Emelie tried setting me up with one of her single mom friends, I’d probably die of alcohol poisoning.
We’re crammed into the breakfast nook off the kitchen with the windows cracked open against the summer heat.
The kids finally went down an hour ago, and now the whole house has fallen into that late-night stillness that makes it a little bit easier to breathe.
There’s a half-empty beer in front of Luca, cigarette smoke curling through the air from where Emelie’s balanced against the corner bench with her knees tucked to her chest, and there’s some old French jazz record spinning quietly from the living room because apparently she cannot physically relax without reminding the world she’s European.
“My friend Clarice lives in Ballston now,” Emelie says in her strong French accent, gesturing at me with her cigarette. “Thirty-four. Very beautiful. Owns a home.”
Luca snorts into his beer. “She owns property? Park, man, this is getting serious.”
“She also has four kids,” Emelie adds.
Goddamn.
“Em.” I stare at her flatly, picking at the shell of a pistachio. “You’re fucking with me.”
Em shrugs, grinning like a shark. “She’s very nurturing.”
“You’re actually fucking with me.”
“She’s flexible,” Emelie continues like I didn’t speak. “Very flexible. Most dancers are, as you know.”
The way she says it immediately makes Luca start laughing.
“Oh no, she used the voice,” he says, pointing at her. “She’s genuinely trying to pimp this woman out to you.”
Emelie rolls her eyes dramatically. “I’m making sure you won’t die alone. You know how much I worry.”
“Since when?” I laugh begrudgingly and drag a hand down my face, sinking deeper into the bench seat.
It always slips back into this whenever I visit them. The three of us curled up at the table. Emelie and I shit on each other while Luca sits there watching us like it’s foreplay. All we’re missing is my ex-wife and her new husband bickering on the other end of the table.
“You need to settle down,” Emelie says eventually, taking a long sip of beer. “You give my husband bad ideas about himself.”
“What bad ideas?” I laugh.
“That a man can live like you forever. It is not realistic, Park. You are almost forty years old.”
“Here’s my theory.” Fully amused, Luca leans back with an excited grin. “I think being captain just broke his dick. Too much pressure to get it up…no one likes a limp dick.”
I flip him off without even looking. “Works just fine, thanks. You know, I’ll show you if you want—”
“Ta guele.” Emelie narrows her eyes at me over the rim of her bottle, throwing a pistachio shell right at me. “Nuh-uh. Don’t give him any ideas.”
“Emelie, honey,” I laugh. “Your husband has a breeding kink. There’s no way he’s gonna leave you for me and my magical cock.”
Her mouth drops open. “Va te faire foutre.”
I lift a shoulder and shrug. “Am I wrong?”
“No,” Luca snorts, hiding his grin with his fist.
“No,” she says immediately. “You know what…Fine. Maybe Park has it all right.”
“I might.”
“No kids,” she continues. “Nice big townhouse. Nice big bank account. Maybe we should give it another shot, Park.”
“You wish.”
It’s easy to forget I slept with Emelie before Luca did. Call me a man whore all you want, but I like to take the credit for them getting together. If Emelie and I weren’t so incompatible, I wouldn’t have ended up begging Luca to take her off my hands.
“I don’t know,” she sighs, giving me a softer look. “I just think that you are so lonely,” she admits. “Jen remarried so quickly—”
“And I couldn’t be happier she found someone—”
“Non, just let me finish,” Emelie tells me. “You haven’t found someone. There’s no boyfriend or girlfriend. You’re just…it’s not good for a man like you to live like that.”
“A man like me?”
“A man who takes care of people,” she clarifies. “You’re a provider, but have no one to provide for.”
Something in my chest tightens unpleasantly. That’s the annoying thing about Emelie. Half the time she’s just fucking with me, but then she says shit like this and it feels like I’m getting hit right in the throat.
I glance away toward the hallway. Family photos line the walls all the way down.
School pictures. Christmas cards. Random snapshots of the kids covered in paint or Luca asleep on the couch with a baby on his bare chest. There’s evidence of life everywhere in this house.
Real life that’s messy and loud and imperfect.
I used to think Luca lost himself in all of this.
Marriage…the kids. But now I’m not so sure.
He just seems so much happier than I am these days.
Especially because he’s married to possibly the best woman in the world.
“You’re doing the thing again,” Luca says, throwing another shell at me that hits me right in the forehead.
“What thing?” I scoff, flicking the shell back in his direction.
“The midlife crisis thing…you’re just thinking too much. It fuckin’ creeps me out, man.”
I roll my eyes. “Just got lost in thought.”
“And that’s fine,” Luca mutters. “As long as you don’t make that ugly fucking face.”
“I’m not making a face.”
“You’re making a face,” Emelie chimes in. “It’s…merde. You look like you’re five days constipated.”
“Well that wouldn’t be good.”
Emelie kicks my shin under the table. “You need a change. It’s like your life is boring in a way you’re so self aware about.”
“My life is great,” I scoff.
Before I can argue further, movement catches in the doorway.
Anders.
My stomach tightens immediately, and the fact that it happens so fast that genuinely fucks with me.
He’s wearing one of those thin tank tops he sleeps in and a pair of dark sleep shorts hanging low on his hips.
Luca and Emelie keep the house unbearably warm all summer long, which means Anders spends most of his time walking around half-dressed and annoyed about it.
This is my third night here, and every single night he’s wandered through the house looking effortlessly beautiful without even trying.
I shouldn’t have noticed that. I really fucking shouldn’t.
“Where’ve you been?” Luca asks him. “You shouldn’t hide in your room. We have guests.”
“It’s just Parker,” Anders says dryly as he walks into the kitchen. “Nothing special.”
“Liar,” I laugh, lifting my beer.
Anders turns toward me at the sound of my voice, and his eyes linger just a little too long before he looks away again.
Heat crawls slowly up the back of my neck.
Jesus Christ.
“Come sit with me, mon lutin,” Emelie says, stretching an arm toward him.
“Désolé.” Anders leans down automatically to kiss her cheek. “Je suis fatigué.”
“You’re going to bed already?” Em asks, sounding a little concerned. “Tu ne vas pas bien?”
“Non. ?a va.”
“It’s not even ten,” I point out.
“That’s midnight for us parents,” Luca says, sighing. “These little bastards wake up at seven every day like they’re clocking into a shift.”
“Don’t act like you’re the one getting up with them,” Emelie scoffs.
I barely hear the rest of the conversation because I can’t stop looking at Anders.
That’s the part that scares me. It isn’t just attraction anymore.
Attraction would be easier to dismiss. Easier to laugh off.
But this feels compulsive, like my attention keeps finding him before I even realize I’m searching for him.
It’s becoming impossible to pretend this is some crossed wire in my brain.
We aren’t back in D.C. where I can convince myself I’m just overprotective because he relies on me too much.
He’s home right now. Luca’s here. Emelie’s here. His entire world is here.
So why the hell do I still feel this pull toward him?
Why am I disappointed every time he disappears upstairs?
“Goodnight,” Anders says softly, kissing Emelie’s cheek again. “Maman.”
“Love you, mon fils.”
He doesn’t say it back, but the look he gives her says enough.
A few minutes later I push away from the table, deciding it’s time to call it a night when Emelie disappears upstairs and never returns.
“I should probably head to bed too.”
“Tubing tomorrow,” Luca reminds me, drumming on the table.
And immediately my brain betrays me again. All that flashes across my eyes is Anders with wet hair slicked back from his face. Sunburnt shoulders. Those stupid coral swim trunks Luca keeps making fun of because they make him look “homeless.”
Jesus Christ. Something is deeply wrong with me.
By the time I make it to bed, my skin feels too tight. A cold shower doesn’t help. Neither does standing in front of the bathroom mirror afterward trying to shame myself back into sanity.
The problem is that I know exactly what this is now. This isn’t some passing thought anymore. I would absolutely fuck him if I could. The realization sits in my stomach like something rotten.
He’s barely twenty.
Luca trusts me.
Anders trusts me.
I keep telling myself that tomorrow this will pass. I’m drunk, overly tired, and stuck in a house full of domestic intimacy that’s making me lose my goddamn mind.
That’s all this is.
I head back to the kitchen for water, mostly because I need something cold enough to shock me into the right headspace. But then I see the kitchen light is still on.
When I finally step inside, Anders is standing at the counter.
“Are you okay?” he asks immediately, turning his head to me.
“Yeah,” I lie automatically. “Fine, sweetheart.”
“That sounded fake.”
I clear my throat and move toward the sink. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.”
The certainty in his voice pisses me off, because he isn’t wrong.
I’m upset. The offseason isn’t long enough.
I haven’t had sex in months. My body has all of these aches and pains that are a constant reminder that I’m no longer living in my prime.
And Anders has been avoiding me since the moment I got here for no goddamn reason.
Fuck me.
Anders opens one of the upper cabinets and grabs two mugs, setting them down on the counter. “Tea?”
“Yeah.”